How It's Supposed To Be
by plasmajellyfish
Summary: Based off of the fanfiction 'I Was Alone With The Moon' by AMKelley. Beaver, Pete, Henry, and Jonesy have a few drinks, and it seems to give them the courage they needed. Focus is mainly on Beaver and Pete. Rated T for some language. Beaver/Pete, Henry/Jonesy.


**A/N: This is my first fanfic, so I'm very open to constructive criticism. A lot of the credit here must go to AMKelley, whose fanfic 'I Was Alone With The Moon' inspired me to write my own, based largely on hers.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Dreamcatcher, or any of its characters.**

Beaver laughed, and slung an arm around Jonesy's shoulders, "Hey," he slurred, "Why didn't we get Duddits in on this?"

"Because I don't think Roberta would appreciate it if we were to get her only son drunk," Jonesy raised his eyebrows at his friend.

Looking disappointed, the Beav said, "Oh." His discontent lasted only momentarily, though. He got up, lost his footing, and fell into Henry's lap.

"Ow," Henry glared at him, shoving Beaver off. "Get the fuck off me. Your ass is too bony."

Giggling, Beaver replied, "Sorry." Then, accusingly, "Why am I the only one drunk?"

"Because I can hold my liquor, Jonesy didn't drink that much yet, and Henry is a thoughtful drunk," Pete explained. Beaver seemed to accept his reasoning, and resumed trying to get up.

After a few tries, Beaver got back into standing position. His friends watched him, Jonesy and Pete amused, Henry stoic, his eyes dark and content. "Third time's a charm," the Beav laughed drunkenly. This caused all his friends to laugh. "What?" he asked, voice slightly angry.

"Third time?" Henry had a smile on his face, and his eyebrows were raised. Beaver looked puzzled, before laughing raucously with his friends.

"You know, the Beav is better entertainment than…" Jonesy laughed, having forgotten what he was going to say. He toppled over, leaning on Henry's shoulder. Henry laughed with him.

Pete laughed as Beav stumbled over to him, "Dumbass," his eyes were bright as he waited for his friend to realize what he'd said. This was his favorite part of their nighttime escapades.

"What'd you call me?" Beaver slurred. He was grinning stupidly and his eyes were also alit with the challenge Pete had presented him with, and delight.

"Dumbass," Pete repeated, standing up, off of the log he'd been sitting on. This happened often. Henry and Jonesy would distance themselves, almost unnoticeably. At the same time, Pete and Beaver went off. They were all great friends, but it just felt _right_ , when they were all together, yet separated into their little groups.

Beaver tackled Pete to the ground, but not hard. It wasn't supposed to hurt. He growled, "Take it back," with his eyes shining down at Pete.

"No," Pete stated defiantly, flipping them over so he was on top of Beaver. "Dumbass," he called Beaver again. He loved this rush, the feeling of euphoria fighting with Beaver gave him. If he had been older, he would've recognized it for what it was. Natural highs, those things they'd learned about in Health class in middle school. He got high off wrestling with Beaver. If he could've done it anytime, he would've been an addict. Nothing could compare to this feeling.

Grinning wildly at him, Beaver demanded that Pete take it back, even though Pete was the one on top, the one who should be making the demands.

Like so many times before, Pete continued to challenge Beaver. "Why should I?" he asked. Then, daringly, eyes brighter than ever, "Are you going to make me?"

Instead of responding with words, Beaver replied by switching their positions. He pinned Pete's arms beside his head, on either side of him. With Pete's wrists in his grasp, he panted heavily. He hadn't done anything to exert himself physically, well, wrestling with Pete, but they were still young. His breathing was rapid, but then it slowed as he stared into Pete's eyes. He saw himself reflected in them. His hair was all over the place, the fire was casting shadows on him. He looked every bit as wild as he felt. Animal, even. Insane. He felt _alive_.

Without thinking, Beaver plunged his mouth onto Pete's, and suddenly, his tongue was grappling with Pete's, and they were kissing furiously.

Beaver straddled Pete's waist, not separating their lips even for a second. He kissed him hungrily. Pete tasted amazing, he tasted like the liquor they'd drank, but, more importantly, he tasted like oranges. It was intoxicating.

Pete surged upward, and Beaver let him up willingly. Pete kissed him like there was no tomorrow, tangling his hands in Beaver's hair. He nipped at the Beav's lips, eliciting a quiet moan from him. Pete loved it. He loved this. The intensity of it, the fire burning in him, in Beaver, in _them_.

They broke apart, and Pete almost forgot to breathe. Beaver, Beaver was… _beautiful_. He was absolutely _beautiful_. He was the most handsome person Pete had ever seen. He didn't know how he didn't notice before. He was stunning.

His hair was in a disarray, his eyes reflected the burning fire, but were lit with their own special Beaver light, his lips were red and swollen and in the hugest smile, and he, Pete Moore, had made that happen. He'd messed up Beaver's hair, he'd twirled it around his fingers, he'd mussed it up. He'd caused Beaver's eyes to light up that way, he made that spark in them. He'd caused those lips to look the way they did. He had kissed those lips, hard and long, he'd made them red and swollen, he'd left his mark, and would, hopefully, leave many more, he'd made that grin appear on Beaver's face.

"Wow," Pete breathed. His face was entirely too close and too far away from Beaver's at the same time. "That was…" Pete began, but was unable to find a word that described what their shared experience was.

"Yeah," Beaver agreed, his eyes trained on Pete's. "That was…" he trailed off, leaving it hanging in the air between them. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, though. "Want to do it again?" the Beav asked him, eyes twinkling and hopeful. "Because I'd really like to."

At first, Pete couldn't say anything. Then, breathlessly, nodding furiously, "Yes. Yes, of course."

"Should we…?" Beaver began, putting his hand on Pete's waist, and the other on his jawline, running the pad of his thumb along it. The touch was feather-light.

Pete melted into the touch. "Yes." He wished more than anything that he could say something else, something other than that damned 'yes.' He opened his mouth to try again. Then he shut it.

There was a rustling of branches, and Beaver and Pete broke apart as if they were electrocuted. They looked over, wide-eyed and suddenly scared not just of what monsters might emerge from the woods surrounding Beaver's house, but also that someone might've seen what they'd done just seconds earlier.

Instead of some zombie foaming at the mouth with green-tinged skin, missing limbs, and a surprisingly fast gait, hindered by its limp, of course, Jonesy and Henry came out of the woods.

They both looked noticeably drunker than they had the last time Beaver and Henry had seen them. They were both laughing, and Henry's hair wasn't as neat as it usually was. They quieted when they saw their other two friends, although Jonesy couldn't completely stop giggling. "Hey, guys," he slurred.

Beaver and Pete were silent for a second, before Beaver replied, "You look drunker than I feel." At that, everyone laughed, and all tension was expelled from the air.

They all crammed onto one log, Pete, Beaver, Henry, and Jonesy, in that order. They were all in contact with each other, but Pete was practically in Beaver's lap and Henry's thigh was pressed against Jonesy's, and their hands were entwined. Beaver was whispering in Pete's ear, occasionally nipping at the lobe. Henry didn't even notice, there was a faint red blush across his nose and cheeks as Jonesy laid his head on his shoulders. Jonesy saw, but didn't think anything of it. Even if he wasn't drunk, he'd think the same. This was how it was supposed to be, after all.


End file.
